Angels to fly
by Kitten1313
Summary: He doesn't want to admit it. That he let his demons run wild and it cost him the woman he loves. But he also doesn't want to sit and listen to the Frenchman's story again. It's bad enough Jazz is gone, but their stares are almost too much for him. (Oneshot, human AU)


I had met her years before; her face was always so full of life and that smile of hers could brighten the cloudiest day. So, cliché but when you're in love it seems easy to say, blind yourself to what's really in front of your face. It's not that you can't see the train coming but, rather you don't want to see it even as it comes barreling at you.

It did, it ran me over so hard and fast I was left seeing stars. But this isn't about me and my sins. It's more about my angel. My darling girl that was whisked away into the pale moonlight.

At that point he drifted off. The man before Alfred was so full of flair it quickly became dull to the younger man. It was a story that had been told over and over, different names, different locations but the ending was always the same.

His story was different, it didn't start with some doe eyed girl that was innocent one moment then strung out the next. His story was bleak from the beginning and their ending he had seen coming a mile away.

"Alfred? Do you wish to share today?"

The blonde man looked up from his spot on the chair, his foot pushing him back dangerously close to the tipping point. "Why do you call them angels?" He asked daring to push himself farther back. "Unless you're being poetic."

"I suppose in a way." The other man answered, his French accent thick in the air. "But you didn't answer my question."

Resting his head back Alfred shrugged. "Guess I didn't." He let his mind go back, back to his black-haired beauty and her devilish smile. "Called herself Jazz though I doubt that was her real name." With a sigh he slammed his chair down onto all four legs with a thud. "Actually I know that wasn't her real name. It was something innocent probably but she wasn't the innocent type. She was harsh, powerful and my god when she smirked at me it was as if she was daring the devil." He shook his head, hating how the French man's way of talking has rubbed off on him. "You couldn't tell her shit, she didn't take it either so I didn't even bother changing her."

His mouth went dry as he felt every eye in the room watching him, secretly judging him for what he did and didn't do. "And?"

"And she died." He snapped as he felt the blood rush to his face. "She ODed like the rest of them. I found her face down in the snow after she didn't come home one night." His eyes flashed with anger he rarely showed. "I couldn't save her because there was no saving." He stood up so fast the chair behind him fell with a loud metallic thud that filled the silent void the room had become. "She made her choices and I made mine." He said as if it was obvious, that the rest would be stupid unless they saw it the same way.

"Alfred," one started with a calm tone.

"No!" He almost screamed, hands clenched. "She did it! It's her," he stopped feeling the weight that has consumed him for over a year threaten to crush him. "How could I have saved her when I could barely save myself?" He managed a low weak chuckle. "I've been through hell and back. Seen things no one should see yet this, this was too much." With a shaky hand he picked up his fallen chair. "I've been called a hero but, where was I when she needed me?"

Again he's answered with only silence as a sea of eyes watched, waiting in silence. He shook his head, nothing but judging stares in his book. Who were they to judge him? They were all just as bad as him if not worse. As he stares back it takes him a moment to resister a question asked. "What?"

"Where were you when she died?"

It was a question he had to answer countless times before. Police, lawyers, newspapers, each time it never got easier.

"I, I was," he paused forcing he words out, hating that it gave them a reason to hate him, really judge him for what he had done. "I was passed out on the couch." He finally said, eyes slammed shut. "I was so God damn drunk I couldn't hear her crying out for me. I failed her." His voice trailed off as he waited for it. A sound that he detested with every bone in his body. A low sigh, it was a sound of disappointment and in that small breathe he could always feel what the world would see in him. Yet, it didn't come, no sigh, no muttered voices saying what he says to himself every night.

It was so silent he swore he could hear his heartbeat, his now cries and for a moment he thought he was somehow alone. Like how he had always been before Jazz had entered his life. He made her happy just by his hug, his smile and for a short time it was enough. Soon though his own thoughts got the better of him, tore a small crack between them that grew everyday little by little until they were nothing but strangers sharing a bed they had once found happiness in.

Then came the night when it all shattered like fragile glass. "I miss her." Alfred said as the months of memories flooded back. His cheeks were stained with tears he had refused to shed as he fell to his knees. "I miss her so much."

From the group the Frenchmen walked up to him, gingerly as he could, wrapped his arms around the younger man. "Love hurts but…" He stopped as he embraced the blonde tighter. "Hold on to the good times until we can see them again."

"Francis."

"And we'll be here until that day comes."


End file.
